Attack of the Talons
by Viva Islenska
Summary: A 'Batman vs Robin' the animated movie fanfiction. More depth about how Nightwing continues to fight for Bruce and Damien's safety when the Court of Owls invades Wayne Manor... even though Nightwing is severely injured. Contains movie spoilers. Rated T just in case for tasteful? swearing.
1. Chapter 1

This is a fic based on the animated movie 'Batman vs Robin' when Nightwing gets stabbed by the Court of Owls' soldiers and then has to face off against Talon himself. I thought they skimmed over it in the movie but then again I am biased because I love Nightwing H/C so much. If you like it too, you might enjoy this piece.

Picks up just after Batman and Nightwing trap the invading Talons in the Wayne Manor ballroom and enter the library.

* * *

The Court of Owls' soldiers were absolutely everywhere. They had invaded Wayne Manor in hundreds and it was up to Nightwing and Batman to fight them and destroy them. One thing was perfectly clear: they wanted the Dark Knight dead. Nightwing was not about to allow any such thing to happen.

The soldiers were putting up a much more challenging fight than the Duo expected. The human-like creatures had been trained extensively in combat and seemed to recover immediately from even the most debilitating blows. They certainly weren't mere mortals beneath their masks, their suits, and their arsenal of knives and sharp claws.

The Duo was doing a decent job fighting together back-to-back but they were split up as soon as more talons rained down from the shattered skylights and busted through the reinforced steel lockdown doors that had previously sealed the library from the ballroom.

Batman shot his grappling gun and flew to the second level of the library and was able to fight off about a dozen talons on his own. Nightwing remained down on the main level fighting his way through a dozen of the talons too. All the Duo had to do was make it across the room to the grandfather clock and take a concealed lift down to the Cave where they could regroup and Batman could don armor that was reserved for emergencies such as this.

But the talons just kept on coming. As soon as the Duo was able to take down one, another two or three would appear. And then, the one that they had smashed and broken to pieces would grotesquely revive itself and attack them again.

Finally, Batman got a break in the action after he took out three talons at once with a charged batarang. He ran over to the ledge to regroup with Nightwing and continue the quest to descend to the Cave.

But what Batman saw terrified and momentarily stunned him.

* * *

Nightwing had successfully neutralized about another dozen talons quickly, beating them expertly with his escrima sticks and landing well-practiced kicks and punches mixed in with a series of deft acrobatics. He caught an opening, back flipped lightly over the pile of defeated talons and made to dash for the clock.

But amidst the chaos, eight talon soldiers had revived and formed up in a column abreast and took aim at the back of the younger hero with several deadly sharp knives.

As Nightwing ran, the sickening sound of sharpened steel stabbing into flesh and muscle rang in his ears and he realized he had been impaled twice in quick succession, once in the right calf and then once in the left just below his knee.

Horrified, he looked down to see two blade points poking out of the front of his lower legs. He tried to keep running but the knives were each tethered to the grappling gun from the talon who had shot it and the lines were pulled taught, holding him in place. Before he realized it, another three knives were thrown and impaled him in both upper thighs and in his lower right ribcage. Again, the knives in his upper thighs made an entry and exit wound and were anchored into him, pulling him backwards with the strength of the trained warriors.

Nightwing cried out in agony as blood from his fresh wounds ran down his legs and onto the carpet beneath him, but he held his ground. Attempting to use his upperbody to reach and gain momentum against the five tensioned lines that were cruelly pulling him backward, he pumped his arms strongly. But it was only a second until they too were each stabbed cleanly through his triceps and emerging through the front of each bicep in a rush of crimson.

"Ugh-Ahhh!" he cried out again in pain as the seven knives finally brought him crashing down to the carpet. The talons immediately began reeling him towards them with powerful, synchronized strokes.

Nightwing scrabbled at the ground reaching for purchase on the carpet so that he may draw a blade and sever the lines, but it was no use. He was already loosing feeling in his limbs and strength as his blood seeped out through his seven terrible stab wounds.

"No!" came a deep shout from the balcony of the library and the Dark Knight leapt to the rescue.

* * *

The talons had pulled the injured Nightwing close to them and one of them brought a battleax high over it's head to finish the young hero. Then Batman threw a charge that successfully detonated, causing the talons to lose their concentration and allowing Nightwing to roll out of the way of the deadly battleax head and try to crawl away again to regain his footing.

But six of the talons recovered from the blast and began painfully reeling him in again. "Agh!" he cried out in agony again, as he struggled against his cruelly anchored binds but was pulled helplessly toward the column of talons once more.

However, Batman was determined to get this young partner to safety. With an expertly aimed shot, he threw a batarang that severed the lines that had Nightwing trapped. Finally, Nightwing was free from their grasp and tried to rise.

The batarang detonated in the faces of the rest of the talons and took them out for good. Batman then looked sadly to his severely injured partner who was struggling to rise out of a pool of his on blood.

Gently, Batman got a strong arm under him and lifted him up off the floor, putting one of Nightwing's arms around his own shoulders and walking the injured bird to the clock.

Nightwing could barely stand let alone walk. The Dark Knight supported most of his weight for him as blood was spilling out and around the seven weapons still embedded in his partner's body. Listening closely, he could hear Nightwing wheezing slightly and trying to hide his grunts of agony.

The pair made it across the room to the clock and Bruce keyed in the code to the hidden entrance. But they could hear more talons approaching. As soon as the clock slid on its tracks exposing the opened hatch, Bruce pushed Dick inside and sealed the door, sending the wounded hero down to the Bat Cave by himself.

* * *

Dick collapsed onto the floor of the lift almost immediately and then saw Batman's gloved gauntlet reach into the lift and send him down.

Realizing what Batman was doing, he called out "Bruce! No!" But before he could pull himself up, the doors sealed and he was descending on his own to the confines of their cavernous lair.

Dick was extremely pissed but understood why Bruce had done that. Batman thought that Nightwing couldn't fight anymore and was trying to buy him enough time to get to safety. Batman would fight a few more talons and then make his way to another one of the Cave's many entrances, giving Nightwing enough time to crawl in the medical ward and hide away.

Nightwing grinned to himself slyly. He might be injured, but he wasn't finished helping Batman. This was his home as much it was Bruce's, Damien's and Alfred's and he would fight until his dying breath to keep all of them safe.

The lift came to a halt and the door slid open, giving him access to sublevel three of the Cave. With effort, he lifted himself out of the puddle of blood and pulled himself out of the elevator. With a renewed sense of determination, he limped over to the medical area, dragging seven lines of severed wire behind him. He grabbed a few rolls of white gauze, a set of spare escrima sticks and proceeded gingerly up a flight of stairs to the main computer console, where he could keep tabs on Bruce while trying to patch himself up enough to rejoin the fight.

" _Here goes_ ," he said apprehensively to himself as he grabbed the blade in his upper left arm by the hilt and wrenched it out. "Nnn" he groaned as blood poured out. Seconds later, he was wrapping white gauze tightly around his arm, putting pressure on both the entrance and exit wound. He repeated the same process with his right arm. The procedure didn't hurt any less the second time.

" _Two down_ …" he thought to himself as he moved down to his legs. As he went to extract the blade from the back of his upper right thigh he realized that he was queasy and shaking. " _I don't have time for this_ ," he chided himself, continuing on and wrapping his fist around the hilt and pulling. The blade reluctantly came out and another river of blood followed. _Shit._ Dick grabbed the role of gauze and wrapped it around and around his leg until the crimson liquid was swallowed up by the white fabric.

He repeated the process three more times, finally extracting the remaining three blades in his lower body and expending another two rolls of gauze. Hopefully he and Bats could finish this soon; blood was already starting to stain the gauze on his arms, especially as he continued to use them.

" _How many was that_?" he wondered to himself before hearing a _whoosh_ and seeing the Dark Knight emerging into the cave.

"Dick! What the hell are you doing? I sent you down here to get first aid and escape! Not to butcher yourself!" yelled Batman as he noticed Nightwing sitting on the main console, wrapped crudely in gauze next to a pile of discarded bloody knives.

"I'm fine," replied Dick shaking and standing up off of the desk, barely keeping his footing.

"The hell you are! I'm not fucking around, Richard. You need to leave!" yelled Bruce angrily and concerned before he was interrupted by rocks falling from the ceiling. The talon soldiers had breeched the Bat Cave.

 _"He used my full name... ouch,"_ thought Dick dryly.

Nightwing immediately took up a fighting stance back-to-back again with the Dark Knight.

"Come on Bruce," he said brazenly to his mentor and unsheathing his weapon of choice. "You know me better than that."

Batman scowled. It was true. He did.

The talons wasted no time in continuing their quest to destroy the Batman and anyone in their way.

* * *

"There's too many of these things to fight without help," yelled Batman to his partner as they took on Owl soldiers from every direction.

Nightwing nodded and drew over half of the soldiers away from his mentor in an attempt to give the Caped Crusader a chance to run to the chamber containing the Bat Armor.

With six talons hot on his heals, Nightwing flipped up a flight of stairs to the platform used for storing uniforms. " _Gotta keep them occupied. Roll with the adrenaline_ ," he said to himself, engaging the talons who had ascended to his location.

Already all the gauze was leaking through, and his vision was starting to swim. But with the help of his escrima sticks he was miraculously able to defeat the group of talons. Wheezing and catching his breath momentarily, he was reminded of an extremely bad injury in the back of his rib cage. He looked down at his side to realize that he had neglected to extract one of the knives that he was stabbed with in the library. But he ignored it and was making to way to help Batman with the armor when, suddenly, he was distracted by a deep voice from behind him.

"You would have made a good Talon," said a tall man wearing Owl armor but no mask. He was a sinister looking son of a bitch, with auburn hair and a malevolent grin.

"You think so?" said Nightwing with feigned interest, turning to square up against this new foe. "Oh, you _flatter_ me," he proclaimed sarcastically before audaciously challenging Talon with a flourish of his escrima sticks and an inviting combative stance.

Talon, excited by the challenge and his confidence soaring when he took in Nightwing's weakened state, attacked in a grotesque swooping fashion that was designed to pay homage to the bird of prey that he worshiped.

The fight would have been almost evenly matched, but Nightwing was so injured that the scale was tipped ominously instead inTalon's favor. Nevertheless, Nightwing fought bravely, determined to keep Talon's attention away from Bruce long enough to allow him to don his armor and end this invasion for once and for all. But he was tiring quickly and the gauze on his limbs was now stained entirely red and so saturated with liquid that it was all falling off. Blood seeped out of each wound and ran down both arms and both legs.

Still, he fought and was able to take a good swing at Talon's face and hit him so hard in the jaw that it momentarily stunned the villain and caused him to pause and take a step back.

"Impressive," said Talon rubbing his jaw and looking pleased with the maneuver that Nightwing had used against him. "But how long can you keep this up in your state?" he asked grinning and lunging again.

Dick was losing his battle with fatigue and he was greatly feeling the effects of the blade still lodged in his lower ribcage. His breaths came in short gasps and his movements were becoming slower and sloppier.

Talon noticed the shining hilt of the knife still embedded in Nightwing's back and gave it a rough shove.

"Aaagh!" yelled the young hero in anguish. Talon had struck him right in his weakest spot. He staggered and was overtaken by waves of blinding pain.

Talon took this opportunity to disarm the hero and throw him to the ground. Nightwing's escrima sticks fell uselessly to the floor below with a _clang_ and he landed bodily on the ground at Talon's mercy.

" _Come on, Grayson, Bats is counting on you,_ " he growled to himself.

"Extraordinary effort, I'll admit. But now you're finished," gloated Talon as he dusted himself off cockily and approached the prone Nightwing for the final blow that would end his life. But as he brought one of his daggers down to end it all, he was shocked and angry to see it embed into nothing but concrete.

Somehow the injured hero had evaded his attack, regained his feet and now stood in a determined defensive posture with his back against a glass panel and both fists raised.

There was a small trail of blood leaking out of Dick's nose and one corner of his mouth. He wiped the blood away with the back of a gloved hand and stared Talon boldly in the eyes, challenging him once more.

Annoyed, Talon ripped his wrist blade out of the floor and charged at Nightwing again. Dick was able to block the first ten or so strikes, but was too injured and sluggish to last long.

Finally, Talon landed two strikes in rapid succession and Dick was stabbed and pinned into the glass by two blades, each imbedded in the meat of where his upper chest joined his shoulder. He roared out in agony.

Pleased with his work, Talon stepped away from Nightwing and leapt off the balcony to find his primary target, leaving Nightwing to a slow and painful death.

Through a haze of pain Dick saw Talon step away from him and leap off the balcony to pursue Batman.

"No," thought Dick to himself. " _No_..."

Dick's feet were sliding in the growing puddle of blood that he was standing in. As he tried to jump forward off of the glass and unpin himself, his boots lost traction and he slipped, causing his body to become suspended from the two blades that held him cruelly against the wall. Gravity and his body weight pulled viciously on the fresh wounds and he groaned in anguish before finally losing his battle with fatigue and pain.

* * *

TBC

:)


	2. Chapter 2

Nightwing's distraction had bought Bruce enough time to don the Bat Armor and neutralize all of the intruding talon soldiers. Damien then returned to help run Talon out of the Manor for good. Damien saved an injured Batman from Talon's blade and chose his father's side over Talon's. But then, in a sick twist, the villain killed himself by forcing Damien's sai into his throat.

Damien fell to the ground in remorse, thinking that his attempt at justice had been in vain and worried that he had disappointed his father. But Bruce picked himself up off the floor of the Cave and then helped Damien to his feet.

After making sure Damien was alright, Bruce and Damien embraced. Damien was upset and knew that it was not yet his time to join his father in Gotham City.

Bruce watched Damien's cape billow out behind him as he strode away from his father, wiping his teary eyes with the back of his gauntlet and making his way to the lift to go pack his things. Bruce smiled with pride, still in raptures about his own young son's heart and abilities, and delighted with the moment of bonding they had just shared with each other.

He was then interrupted by the urgent and concerned voice of Alfred.

"Sir, come quickly!" he shouted to Bruce. "Master Dick needs help!"

Bruce gasped. "Dick!" How could he have forgotten? The last time he had seen his eldest son, Dick was bleeding and limping and charging back into to battle.

"Where?" he called jumping up and glancing around the cave nervously.

"Up here, sir" called Alfred from the level containing the glass capsules of old uniforms.

Ignoring his own many injuries, Bruce limped up the stairs and over to where Alfred was standing, concealing a horrific sight.

* * *

Dick was pinned cruelly into the glass capsule containing his very own old Robin suit by two of Talon's deadly blades in each of his shoulders. He was slumped and bleeding heavily from his multiple wounds and his breath was shallow and wheezing.

"I tried to get him down, sir, but I'm just not strong enough," Alfred reported sadly to Bruce.

"It's ok Alfred, I'll get him down," said Bruce approaching Dick and slipping slightly in the blood on the floor that he hadn't noticed. "Call Leslie," he ordered at once.

"Master Bruce!" said Alfred alarmed noticing Bruce's three stab wounds and multiple lacerations. "You're hurt badly as well!"

"Like I said," grunted Bruce as he pulled both blades out of Dick's shoulders at the same time. Dick stirred, groaned in pain and fell. Bruce caught him in a rough hug and lowered him to the ground. "Call Leslie," he repeated urgently.

He heard Alfred's footsteps trail away as the older gentleman ran toward the communications unit to summon the only civilian physician that was trusted in the Wayne household.

Bruce looked down at his eldest partner in dismay. Dick was pale, shaking slightly and covered in blood.

Reaching down around Dick's torso to hold him in a stronger grip, Bruce felt the hilt of a weapon. Horrified, Bruce turned Dick slightly to see that he still had one of the talon knives from the library embedded deeply in his side- much more deeply than it had been initially.

"Dammit, Dick," whispered Bruce sadly in concern. He reached and pulled out the offending blade and threw it away from the pair in disgust. Dick groaned when the blade came free.

Bruce put his own gloved and shaking palm on the wound that now bled freely, held him tightly and checked his pulse. It was weak but it was there. "I've got you son, hang on."

Bruce reached down and gently pushed a sweaty lock of black hair out of Dick's eyes and removed his mask. As expected, Dick's eyes were closed. But he was still with him slightly.

"Bruce," he coughed and choked, blood leaking out of his mouth, his blue eyes blinking rapidly and trying to open, but failing. "Bruce… are you alright? Where's … where's Damien?"

"Fine, partner," soothed Bruce. "We're all fine, just stay with me. Breathe, Richard, and stay with me."

"Master Bruce!" cried Alfred running back to the pair clutching a first aid kit. "She's on her way. ETA ten minutes."

"Good," acknowledged Bruce shifting Dick slightly so that Alfred could get a better look at him and administer some much-needed first aid. "You hear that, partner?" said Bruce gently to his eldest son. "Doc's on her way. Hang in there."

Dick made no response but a slight groan in acknowledgement before finally completely losing all consciousness.

"Can you lift him, sir?" asked Alfred worriedly.

No response.

"Sir?" asked Alfred again.

"What?" said Bruce startled. He was having tough time staying awake too. "Oh, yes. I think so."

Looking at the Dark Knight, Alfred frowned. The older man's body was slumped over the younger and blood ran red down his black cape from two puncture wounds in his back.

But after a few more moments, Bruce gathered his remaining strength and lifted Dick up off the ground and carried him to an examination chair in the Cave's triage section.

Bruce stood over Dick as Alfred reclined the chair into a prone position, laying the younger hero completely flat and exposing his many injuries.

"Sir, please lie down," begged Alfred eyeing that many injuries that the Dark Knight was also sporting.

Bruce ignored the request. "How much longer until Leslie gets here?"

"She's at the gate, sir, driving up now," replied Alfred driving a wheeled desk chair into the back of the Dark Knight's knees.

"What the hell!" yelped the Dark Knight crashing heavily down into the chair, but lacking the energy to pick himself up out of it.

"It's for your own good, sir. I just can't lift you like I used to."

Bruce scowled at the butler but turned his attention back to Dick.

A minute later, the Gotham City Free Clinic's doctor announced her presence and rushed over to the triage area- an area of the Bat Cave that she was all too familiar with.


	3. Chapter 3

"Tell me _everything_ ," ordered the doctor as she ran over to where Dick lay unconscious.

"Well," began Bruce...

"Bruce, not you. You look like shit, quite frankly, so be quiet," said Leslie pulling on white gloves and going through her emergency procedures with the younger member of the Dynamic Duo. "Alfred, I'm talking to you." She checked all of his vitals, and shined her light into each of his pupils. "Richard," she addressed the ailing hero. "Richard, can you hear me?" Leslie frowned after several failed attempts at a response.

Alfred stood the other side of Dick's bed, also donning a pair of white gloves and ready to answer Leslie's every command. He was almost as good as any surgeon after all.

Alfred gave her a quick run down of recent events and presented her a Ziploc bag containing one of the many blades that Dick had been impaled with.

"My God, he needs blood," said Leslie. "Alfred bring me six bags. They're disturbingly labeled by name in this household if I recall correctly." Despite her tone, she wasn't actually angry. Bruce and Dick collected and stored supplies of their own blood for emergencies such as this. It was an unselfish method of keeping their freezer stocked it was a practice that was going to prove extremely useful this very night. "I'll start gathering tools."

"Leslie, I can help," said a gruff voice from behind her.

"Bruce, you can't even stand," she scolded. "And your hands are shaking. Now sit back down or else I'll make you sit down."

Defeated, the Dark Knight sighed heavily and sat back down in the same chair that Alfred had _so kindly_ provided for him.

Alfred returned with bags of blood that Dick had labeled himself with his name and a crude and obscenely cocky drawing of his own likeness. Leslie scowled at this too but had already began an IV and was setting up for a transfusion.

"Cut away the entire uniform," she ordered tersely. Alfred did so deftly.

When the black body suit was tugged away, she and the butler gasped in unison. Dick's body was a mess of blood, gaping wounds and severe bruising. The stab wounds were deep and traumatic.

"Reckless bastard," said Leslie sadly, inspecting the wounds and listening to Dick's chest with her stethoscope again. "Pneumothorax," she concluded. "Alfred-"

"On it, doctor," said Alfred as he went to work. Leslie then took and inspected a series of x-rays.

"I wish we had another set of steady hands down here," sighed Leslie preparing her surgical tools as Alfred intubated the injured bird.

Bruce sat quietly in distress. "Please," he begged again to the doctor. "Let me help."

Without even turning around, Leslie reproached him. "For the last time, you can't!"

"But _I_ can," come a young voice from the balcony. Damien had come back down to the Cave to see what was taking everyone so long to come up to the house and to ask what was going to be done with Talon's body.

Leslie looked up at him suspiciously.

"Another one?" she said to Bruce accusingly.

"My youngest son," said Bruce quietly.

"Like that's any excuse," said Leslie turning from Bruce to Damien. "Alright, fine. But you need to do _exactly_ as I say. How steady are your hands?"

"Steadier than yours," said Damian proudly.

"Good," said Leslie knowing that well-placed bravado was an advantage in this line of work.

The skilled doctor and her two 'assistants' began a two-hour long procedure to bring Dick out of danger.

* * *

Bruce grew quieter and quieter as the team worked. Concerned, Leslie called out to him every fifteen minutes or so.

"Bruce," she would say, not daring to lift her eyes from her current patient, "Are you still with us over there?" or "How's daddy bats holding up over there?"

At first, he was annoyed that they would even bother with his well-being while Dick was critical. But as the minutes and hours ticked by, his thoughts became less lucid and his ' _still here, dammit_ 's morphed into terse ' _yes_ 's into groans into mere nods.

At long last, Bruce was unable to stay awake any longer. His eyes drifted shut and he slumped heavily forward his chair.

"Bruce," called Leslie again as she and Alfred were suturing the last of Dick's horrible stab wounds and Damien was standing ready to provide tools. "You still here?"

No answer.

"Bruce?" she asked again in case he hadn't heard her.

"He's out," said Damien glancing over at his father. "What should we do?"

"Shit," said Leslie. "Good thing we're almost finished here. Damien are you strong enough to get your father onto a bed?"

Damien nodded and began the difficult task of moving Bruce, who was easily about six times his weight, onto a bed next to Dick's. The wheeled desk chair that Bruce was slumped in facilitated the task greatly.

"Alright, Alfred, good work," said Leslie. "We need to keep Dick sedated and under surveillance. Dress him in something warm comfortable and move his bed to the side. I want to be able to keep a close eye on him while we treat Bruce."

She then walked over to the sink and scrubbed her hands before dawning a new pair of sterile white gloves.

By the time she was finished, Damien had Bruce on a bed. Leslie did a series of x-rays and inspected them. Damien then removed his cape and cut away the top of his uniform as Alfred moved Dick over to the side, dressed him in comfortable work out sweats and turned his heart monitor so that Leslie could glance up at it.

Bruce stirred as his uniform was cut away and the cool air of the cave hit his bare chest. He blinked and squinted into the bright light before startling himself and trying to sit up. "Wait, where's Dick?" he demanded, grunting in pain as Alfred held him down.

"He's here, sir" soothed Alfred motioning to Dick's bed. "And on his merry way to recovery.

"Good," grunted Bruce. "Don't you dare put me under," he ordered.

"Bruce, don't be ridiculous. You've got a bad stab wound in your stomach. X-rays show it hasn't severed anything major but tending to it is going to be painful if we do it locally.

"Works for me," growled Bruce in a tone that demanded the procedure be done with local anesthetic only. "Damien?" he said glancing around for his youngest son.

"Right here, father," said the boy appearing at Bruce's side.

"How are you holding up, son?" Bruce asked, wincing as the first pinch of lidocaine was injected into his abdomen.

"I'm fine," assured the boy with a scowl that looked incredibly similar to ones that his father wore frequently. "I've been through way worse."

"I believe you," said Bruce noticing some slight bruising under both of Damien's eyes and a swollen contusion on his forehead. "Have you finished packing?"

"Not yet," said the boy.

"Are you up for a mission?" asked Bruce wincing as his deep stomach wound was sanitized.

"Always," said Damien looking almost a little intrigued for an instant.

"Your mission is rest. Go upstairs, grab an ice-pak from the kitchen and get some sleep," said Bruce lightly.

"But father!" complained the boy.

"Damien," began Bruce. "You've done so well tonight, son. Alfred and I can handle it from here."

For once, Damien didn't argue any further. He took one last sad look at Dick, one last look at Bruce and headed to the elevator that would take him to the Manor.

* * *

A while passed before Bruce's abdominal wound was properly repaired and dressed. Leslie and Alfred cleaned and placed a few stitches in some of the lacerations on his face and inspected the rest of the front of him thoroughly for any injuries he might have failed to mention. Leslie was satisfied with her inspection but his right ankle had a mild sprain, so she wrapped it tightly for him.

"Bruce, can you roll over?" asked the Doctor to the Dark Knight, in preparation to treat the punctures in his back.

With a barely masked groan, Bruce rolled over, exposing his large, muscled back to the bright light and the two people who were caring for him.

"That's it," said the doctor assuringly. "Almost finished."

About twenty more minutes passed.

"Alright, everything looks good all things considered. I'm not too worried about you, Bruce, you just need to take it extremely easy. Slow movements and stay off of that ankle as much as you can."

"What about Dick?" asked Bruce sitting up slowly and swinging his legs over the side of the hospital bed.

"Dick is out of danger and breathing on his own but he needs to be watched for at least the next forty-eight hours. Can you two take shifts and keep him under constant surveillance? I need to get back to the clinic, I left an utter fool in charge."

"We can," said Bruce looking to Alfred.

"Indeed," said Alfred confidently. "I will take first shift, Master Bruce, you need rest. I shall take Master Dick to his old room and make him comfortable."

"Fine," agreed Bruce yawning and wincing as he stretched his fatigued muscles. "I'll be in the Master bedroom. _Two_ hours Alfred, then its my turn," he ordered standing up slowly and making to help transfer Dick to the Manor.

"Of course, sir" said Alfred as he winked at Leslie who had secretly mouthed the word _eight_ to the butler. Stealing Master Bruce's alarm clock would be no problem at all in his current state anyway.

"I'll help you get Dick situated in his room, but then I really must go," said Leslie gathering her things. "Have him finish this IV with the antibiotics and then give him another. _Any_ sign of his condition degrading or of infection, please, for the love of God, call a damn ambulance."

"We will, Leslie," said Bruce knowing the the good doctor often worked around the clock and it was lucky that she was able to help them tonight at all. "And thank you so much for your help. You really are incredible." He clasped her hand affectionately in both of his.

"Truly divine," agreed Alfred, grabbing her hand after Bruce released it and kissing it chivalrously.

"It's my pleasure," said the doctor blushing. "It's not every doctor who gets to work with actual superheroes."

"She's talking about me, Master Bruce," said Alfred in a droll manor.

Bruce had to smile. His butler's jape wasn't actually far from the truth.

* * *

The three proceeded to transport a sedated Dick from the Bat Cave to the peace and comfort of his old bedroom.

Leslie took her leave, while Alfred settled down in a comfortable arm chair at Dick's bedside, sipping strong cup of tea, removing the batteries from a small alarm clock he had just pilfered, and paging through the Gotham Gazette.

Bruce limped along the main upstairs corridor from Dick's room to his own, stopping briefly at Damian's bedroom to make sure the boy had actually gone to bed. He peered into the din of Damien's room and saw the young sleeping body's chest rising and falling slowly and peacefully. Squinting in skepticism, Bruce walked over to the bed to make sure that this was no trick. But Damien was actually in his bed asleep, his usually frowning face slack with blissful innocence and youth. Bruce pulled Damien's warm blankets up around his small frame and bent down and planted a fatherly kiss on the top of the black, unruly hair that he had inherited from the Wayne side. Then, he silently slipped out of the room, shut the door behind him and made it to his own bed just in time to fall deeply asleep.


	4. Chapter 4

About nine hours later.

* * *

Bruce Wayne woke slowly as a line of mid-day sun streamed through the small crack between his dark curtains and onto his pillows. He was achey, stiff and had a slight headache. He could feel tight bandages on his back and on his stomach as well as some swelling in his face. While he was no stranger to waking up in situations such as this, there was something in the back of his mind nagging at him. He sat up, realized the clock on his bedside table was missing, and looked at the clock on wall.

Horrified, he saw that it was almost mid-day and he had been asleep for over nine hours. But he was supposed to have been woken up to watch over Dick! _Dammit Alfred_.

" _Oh God_ ," he thought sadly to himself, remembering the state of Dick after last night's events. He cleaned himself up, got dressed and limped slowly down the corridor. Damien's room was vacant and immaculately tidy when he passed by, so he continued onto Dick's room.

As expected, he found Dick still sleeping and Alfred still watching over him.

"Good morning, Master Bruce. Feeling better, sir?" asked Alfred cheerily.

"Alfred, save it," said Bruce angry that the butler hadn't gotten a moment of his own rest yet. Then his demeanor softened.

"How is he?" he inquired about Dick, taking in the the younger man's sleeping form, looking at each of his partner's bandages and glancing at the IV next to the bed.

"Quite improved, I believe," reported Alfred. "He hasn't woken yet, but his vitals are fantastic and I see some color returning to his skin. Don't worry, Master Bruce. Master Dick will be up and talking all our ears off again in no time."

"Let's hope. Thanks for watching over him," said Bruce. "Can you pilot the drone and deliver Talon to Commissioner Gordon? The rooftop of Gotham PD will do; I'll text him.. Then, if you could, please bring me a pot of coffee, my work laptop and then get some rest. I don't want to see you again until tonight."

"Right away, sir," said Alfred smirking slightly to himself, pleased that Bruce had gotten a good night's sleep and that he was looking healthier than he did after last night's events.

"Thank you," said Bruce sitting down in the same comfortable seat that Alfred had occupied and easing his injured leg up onto the ottoman. "Have you seen, Damien?"

"Indeed, sir," said the butler walking over to Bruce and lifting up his shirt to check on Bruce's bandages. "He's appeared several times to check on Master Dick and is currently reading in the den."

"How did he look?" asked Bruce allowing Alfred to lift his chin and tilt his face in various angles in order to examine the wounds on his face. Alfred looked pleased.

"He looked well, sir. A few bruises perhaps, but well enough to slash the garden to pieces again with that bloody sword of his," said the butler finishing his exam and looking satisfied with Bruce's healing so far. "What those shrubs ever did to him, I shudder to think. I'll let him know that you're awake, sir, and take care of that _charming_ errand. Then I'll be back right away with your coffee and laptop."

"Sounds good," said Bruce settling in to begin his vigil. "Oh and can you call into the office for me? I won't be going in today."

"It's past noon, sir, and... it's Saturday," said Alfred looking at Bruce suspiciously. It was unlike the Greatest Detective in the World to be so uncollected.

"Oh," said Bruce, his poise ruffled. Maybe he was more of wreck than he initially thought.

Alfred squinted at Bruce in scrutiny thinking that perhaps all of those kicks to the face, courtesy of Talon, had done more damage than he and Leslie originally assessed. Deciding he should be grateful that he at least hoodwinked Bruce into sleeping, he then left, shutting Dick's bedroom door quietly behind him and heading downstairs to brew a strong pot of dark roast coffee. It was the little victories that the aging butler had to cherish in this household after all.

* * *

A few hours later, Bruce was three cups of coffee deep and reviewing the Wayne Tech monthly reports when he heard movement from Dick's bed.

The younger hero was beginning to stir and his eye lids were twitching as he struggled to wake up. Bruce set his coffee and laptop down on the table, and pulled his chair up close to Dick's bed.

"Dick?" he asked gently. "Are you with me, partner?"

"Nnn," came a soft groan from the acrobat.

"That's it, son. Wake up now," said Bruce grasping Dick's hand trying to coax him out of his slumber.

After several moments, Dick's blue eyes blinked open and regarded Bruce thoughtfully.

"Bruce? -Nnn- You alright?" he said to the older hero, speech slow and his inflections laced with pain. "You don't... you don't look... so good."

"Speak for yourself, partner," said Bruce smirking. "Do you know what day it is?"

Dick frowned. "Nope... -nnn-... not a clue" he reported unconcernedly.

"Neither do I, apparently," said Bruce shrugging off that worrisome answer. "Here's a better question: do you remember what happened last night?"

Dick closed his eyes, remembering. "The Owls," he said. "They... they invaded and ... -Nnn-... Talon got ...the drop on me. I'm so sorry. What happened... after Talon... after he went after you?"

"Damien returned and helped me take care of Talon for good," said Bruce leaving out the major details until Dick was more coherent. "You took a massive beating this time, Dick. We had to call Leslie. Nine severe stab wounds. How are you feeling?"

"Fantastic... -nnn- really marvelous," said the the acrobat.

"More like lousy and miserable," said Bruce knowingly.

"More like," admitted Dick. "What's... -nnn- what's the... damage? How long... will I be... "

"Weeks," reported Bruce. "You're body sustained a lot of trauma."

"I think... -nnn- Yep, I can feel it," said Dick groaning. "Leslie... was she pissed?"

"What do you think?" asked Bruce rhetorically. "Here, let me give you something to take the edge off," said Bruce standing up and reaching onto the bedside table. He collected a mild sedative and some pain relievers to help make Dick more comfortable.

"Poor... poor choice... of words, Bruce," said Dick smirking at his own pun.

"Just try to relax," soothed Bruce. "Can I get you anything before I'm talking to myself again?"

...

"Dick?" asked Bruce looking down at his partner.

Dick had drifted off to sleep again. But his face was contorted with pain as he slept.

"I'll take that as a no," said Bruce to deaf ears before injecting the medicines into Dick's IV.

Minutes later, Dick relaxed and he was sleeping peacefully once again under the protective watch of the Dark Knight and the affectionate eye of Bruce Wayne.


	5. Chapter 5

The next morning.

* * *

The September sun was rising over Gotham City and the opulent steeples of Wayne Manor were glinting in the intensifying daylight.

Alfred opened a window to let in some fresh air sat back down in the large arm chair next to Dick's bed. He was sipping his customary cup of tea and paging through the Sunday Gazette, when he was suddenly distracted from his thoughts by the injured man he was watching over.

Dick was still in a much needed state of sedation, but he was dreaming.

"Nnn," he groaned in his sleep, his eyelids twitching rapidly and his limbs thrashing slightly. "Babs," he said pleadingly. "Babs... please..."

He thrashed and groaned a little more before falling silent again. Alfred raised an eyebrow analytically, but ultimately went back to his newspaper.

* * *

A few hours later, Dick was waking up again. This time, he had an easier time coming around.

He blinked into the light and looked up at Alfred.

"Good morning, Master Dick," beamed the Butler.

"Alfred... 'morning," Dick slurred stretching and wincing in pain from the movement. _Oh yeah,_ he thought irksomely to himself. _Stab wounds. In abundance._

 _"_ And how are you feeling, Mater Dick?" asked the butler standing up to fetch a glass of water. "Do you know what day it is?"

"February," said the young hero, smirking peevishly.

"That's not funny, Master Dick," chided Alfred handing him a cup of water. "If you'd have seen the state of you, you'd know why I even bothered to ask. Why must you insist on constantly vexing a poor old man?"

"Sorry, Alfred," said Dick taking long gulps of water. "But Bruce asked yesterday. And you what?" Said Dick between gulps. "He didn't know either. And if you're a poor old man then I'm a shy maiden"

"Well, you must be feeling better if you can make jokes," said the butler rethinking that statement as Dick winced in pain when he tried to set the empty glass down on the side table. Alfred noticed the struggle and grabbed the glass before it could fall.

"Thanks," said Dick sheepishly.

"Think nothing of it," said the butler.

"How's Bruce doing?" asked Dick gingerly moving himself into a sitting position. _Damn_ was he sore.

"Curiously, well," said Alfred lending a helping hand. "He's up and about already and engrossed in his detective work again."

"Well that's good," said Dick. "God forbid Bruce Wayne get two nights of sleep. In a row."

"You slept well at least?" asked Alfred adjusting the injured man's pillows

"I did, thanks," reported Dick. "It's those sedatives, they can really knock you on your ass."

"Yes, that is what it says on the bottle," said Alfred dryly.

"Mhm," acknowledged Dick smiling sleepily.

"I've been instructed by a certain doctor to try to keep you awake as long as possible this time, Master Dick," said Alfred settling back into his chair. "So you'll forgive me, if I seem more loquacious than usual."

"Forgiven," said Dick understanding the Doctor's orders. "And _me_ calling _you_ loquacious... that would be rich."

"Indeed," agreed Alfred whole-heartedly. "So, here goes. How are things with you and... what's the name of that lovely young lady you're seeing these days?"

"Oh, Kori?" said Dick struggling to keep his focus and surprised by the question. "Fine, I guess. Why do you ask?"

"Ah yes, Kori. Well, I don't mean to pry, Master Dick," said the Butler with one eyebrow raised and every intention of prying. "But you were talking in your sleep this morning and I distinctly heard you say the name _Babs."_

For the first time in a long time, Richard Grayson had no cunning retort. He had been caught red-handed and could do nothing but stare wide-eyed and sheepishly at the butler.

That was, until another person amidst their company made themselves known.

"Busted!" said a young, intrepid voice triumphantly from the windowsill. "Who's Babs?" asked Damien leaping through the open window and landing lightly next to Alfred's chair.

"Ughhh," groaned Dick face-palming.

"Master Damien, please refrain from climbing on the shingles," said Alfred in the same tone that any average ten-year-old might be reminded to wash their hands before dinner. "They're due for their ten-year renovation this fall."

"Noted," said Damien glaring keenly at a very peeved looking Dick. "But that doesn't answer my question. Who's Babs?" he repeated again.

"A good friend of the family's," came a deep voice from the doorway as Bruce entered the room to collect Damien. "You'll meet Barbara when you're on holiday, Damien. Now come on son, your flight leaves in thirty."

"Fine," said Damien, heading toward the door, but turning around and walking back to Dick's bedside and lowering his gaze. "Thanks for helping to keep my father safe," he said quietly.

"I should say the same thing to you," said Dick. "And I always will." Dick smiled down at the young boy and Damien looked up with a hint of an actual non-frown playing on the corners of his mouth.

"I believe you," said Damien. "Now get well soon, _circus freak_. I'll be back at Christmas to kick your ass, and I prefer my competition not to look like swiss cheese before we even draw our weapons."

Dick had to smirk.

"Will do, _Demon_ ," replied Dick saucily. "You can expect to get your ass handed to you... just like last time we sparred."

"Yeah, we'll see about that!" said Damien.

"Yes, you two can do all the sparring you want come December," interjected Bruce. "But, Damien, your semester starts Monday and your Headmaster does not tolerate tardiness. Believe me..." he was then lost momentarily in a memory.

"Yes, father," said Damien headed for the door. "Farewell," he said bowing stiffly to Dick and Alfred with a residue of the disciplines he learned growing up in the strict dojos of Ra's al Ghul.

"And study hard!" called Dick to Damien as he left. "We only get straight A's in this family, don't soil our reputation!"

"Psh!" called Damien disdainfully, his voice growing fainter as he and Bruce made their way down the hallway and to the stairs. "Like there _is_ any other grade to get!"

* * *

A few minutes later, Bruce Wayne's sports car could be heard driving off through the gated entrance and down the lane.

Alfred watched the car disappear and then turned his attention back to Dick.

"That school in the Himalayas will be good for Master Damien," said Alfred matter-of-factly. "Something tells me that Damien wouldn't do as well as you did at Gotham Academy, sir."

"Yeah well, school or no school, the kid needs a lesson in humanity... and humility," said Dick trying to stretch and rotate his arms.

"You may not realize it yet, but he looks up to you. Perhaps you can give him a good lesson in humanity, Master Dick," said Alfred standing up to pin Dick's arms gently back to his side and make him lay down again before the reckless man undid the good doctor's work. "Humility though... maybe not so much."

Dick laughed. "Alright, fine," he surrendered. "We'll leave that one to Bruce."

"A most sensible idea, sir," agreed Alfred looking at Dicks's drooping eyes. "I suppose I can't keep you awake much longer can I?"

"...Don't think so Alfred," said Dick, yawning. "But before... I take another... bird nap, can I... use your phone?"

"Of course, sir," said Alfred pulling the sleek smart phone of out his jacket pocket and handing it to Dick. "I'll, be back in a few minutes. I need to check on... well... something or other."

Dick smiled in gratitude knowing that Alfred was simply giving him privacy to make his phone call.

Alfred collected the pile of empty mugs and saucers and made his way to the door. Before stepping out into the hallway, he turned back to Dick.

"Number four, Master Dick," he called to young man in the bed.

"What?" said Dick furrowing his brow.

"I have speed dial set up," said Alfred. "Miss Barbara's number is programmed under number four."

"Oh! I wasn't... I didn't.." sputtered Dick awkwardly.

"You wound me, sir," said Alfred. "Old and balding I may be, but I'm no buffoon."

In a flourish of coattails, the butler took his temporary leave.

"You certainly aren't," said Dick outloud to no one in particular as he looked down at the phone and pressed the number four.

"Hello?" asked the familiar voice on the other end of the line.

"Hey, Babs? It's me."

"...Grayson?"

* * *

Will probably do another chapter.

:)


	6. Chapter 6

Later that week.

* * *

"What the hell are you doing out of bed?" said Batman from his computer console in the Batcave without needing to turn around to know who it was approaching him.

"I've been cooped up for days, Bats, I need to stretch my legs," complained his eldest son.

"Your legs to _heal_ , not be stretched," said Bruce continuing to read the digital text he was scrolling through.

"Well, that's what arms are for," replied Dick folding gracefully into a perfect handstand and walking on his hands over to the chair next to Bruce just to spite the Dark Knight. He then sprung off of the floor, did a font flip and landed neatly in the seat. "See? Practically good as new."

Bruce narrowed his eyes in suspicion and reached over, poking Dick firmly in his left shoulder.

"Ow" he said wincing and bothered, his arm smarting from the touch to one of his many half-healed wounds.

"Good as new my ass," grumbled the Bat. It had been a long day for Bruce Wayne at the office, and an even longer night of detective work in the Gotham streets and in the Cave.

Dick had been working with Bruce long enough to be able to distinguish his usual growl from his tired and frustrated growl. "Anything I can help with?" he asked the Dark Knight glancing up at the information and photos displayed on the screen.

"It's all this new information on the Court of Owls," said Bruce sighing and rubbing his tired eyes with his palms. "I just have this hunch that we haven't seen the last of them."

"I have the same feeling," agreed Dick stroking the stubble his chin pensively. "And those creatures they made... those living dead soldiers... there could be more."

"Agreed. That's why I've given all the remains of all the talons what we neutralized here at the Manor to Star Labs for forensic analysis. Maybe there's an easier way to put them to rest besides the sub-zero cold."

"They did put up a hell of a fight didn't they?" said Dick.

"Mmm," said Bruce in agreement. He swiveled around in his chair, looking deeply critical at his eldest protege. "How do you feel, truly?"

"Good enough for government work," said Dick shrugging.

"Bullshit," said Bruce. "I know what it feels like to be impaled. I don't want to see you on patrol in Gotham, in Bludhaven, anywhere for at least another two weeks, Dick."

"One week," Dick petitioned.

"Two," growled Bruce finitely. "You can help me with research and shop work. Also, if you're up for it, Alfred and I could use a hand around the Manor cleaning up after last week's break-in."

"Happy to help," said Dick. "You're not calling in a crew?"

"No," said Bruce. "I don't want the Owl invasion going public. The press lurking around our walls is the last thing I need."

"Oh yeah," agreed Dick. "It would be a slug fest. Especially when they see what your son did to Alfred's shrub safari. I think Alfred's way more sad about it than he let's on. How's the little demon doing at school?"

"So far, so good. He says his instructors are 'sufficient' and is pleased with the 'good order and discipline' of the place," said Bruce.

"Sounds like our Damien. That's good at least," said Dick standing up gingerly and flicking the Cave's computer into sleep mode. "Let's turn in, Old Man. You're still half-healed too."

The two walked together in silence, turned out the overhead lights of the Cave and ascended in the lift to the Manor for the night.

* * *

The next morning the extensive clean-up began. Bruce, Alfred and Dick had breakfast together and then started with the library. They collected old books, cleaned up glass shards and talked about Damien.

Around midday, Bruce went upstairs to his office to take care of some Wayne Tech business. Dick and Alfred continued with the clean-up.

Suddenly, the door bell rang.

"Who the hell could that be on a Saturday?" asked Dick as he flipped idly through a stack of Dickens novels.

"Oh dear me!" said Alfred a little too dramtically. "My apologies Master Dick, I forgot to tell you. I invited help."

"You _don't_ say?" asked Dick suspiciously narrowing his eyes at Alfred. _What could this be now?_

 _"_ Indeed, sir," replied Alfred in a tone that suggested that the notion was nothing out of the ordinary. "With you in your convalescent state and Master Bruce working, and me being the _poor, old, feeble_ creature that I am, I contacted an old friend who said she would be delighted to help."

" _She?"_ asked Dick, realization dawning on him. "Alfred..."

"Oops! A thousand apologies Master Dick, you'll have to pardon me... I have tea on!" exclaimed Alfred again with practiced enthusiasm.

"Alfred..."

"Could you be a good lad and do a _poor_ old man a favor..."

"Alfred..."

"And get that door for me?" before Dick could respond the butler hurried off into the kitchen.

Dick watched the butler go and sighed nervously. Maybe it wasn't who it he thought it was going to be. He walked timidly over to the door and peered out the peephole.

Dick's heart skipped a beat.

Thick red hair wavered in the light breeze and intelligent green eyes glittered from behind a pair of large and fashionable glasses. The woman had a pretty face, even as she rolled her eyes, scowled and reached up from her chair to hammer away on the large manse's door with the heavy door knocker.

Dick gulped, ran his fingers through his hair and stood up straight. _Shit,_ he thought, _I forgot to shave! Ah well, just be cool Grayson, be cool..._

The heavy door opened slowly with a creak.

"About time," said Babs boldly. "Alfred, is that anyway to treat a lady- Richard!"

"Hey, Babs," said Dick his face reddening.

He wanted to go to her. Lean down and embrace her, kiss her gently on the cheek and then rest his chin on the top of her head like he used to. But that was before.

"Well, well, well," she said, all confidence and bravado. "Look who it is, so the circus really is in town!"

She took in the state of him and her confidence and hard demeanor cracked. All sarcasm and ridicule fled. She gasped.

"Dick! What happened to you?" she moved up close to him and inspected his many wounds. "I know you said on the phone you were a little banged up... but for God's sake, man, you're in shambles!"

Dick didn't say anything. He just stared at her. He had forgotten how beautiful she truly was and how much he had missed her.

Babs ran her fingers gently along his wounds. "Who did this, Dick?"

He still was lost in thought and had nothing to say for himself.

"Dick?" she asked, concern growing on her features.

"God, it's so good to see you," he blurted out before he could stop himself.

Babs blushed prettily and tucked her hair behind her ears. "Still a smooth talker I see," she said collecting herself and smirking. "Where are Alfred and Bruce?"

"Alfred is in the kitchen brewing fake tea and Bruce is up in his office boosting his cortisol levels. What's new with you?" he asked closing the door behind them before they could go into the house or be spied on.

"Oh nothing much. So Bruce has a blood son?" she said.

"He does," Dick confirmed. "Damien. He's quite the..."

"Assassin," she finished.

"I was going to say brat," said Dick. "But yeah, that too."

"I did my research," Babs continued, intrigued. "Kid's Talia's son and he's good with a katana."

"Better than good. You should see what he did to Alfred's garden," said Dick.

"Oh no!" shrieked Babs her hands going to her mouth in mixed dismay for the butler and apologetic amusement.

"It's actually hilarious," said Dick with a guilty grin. "Come on, I'll show you."

He grabbed Babs by the hand and gave it a squeeze. She smiled devilishly up at him.

"What's this?" she said allowing him to clasp her hand.

"You see how hurt I am, Babs," he whined. "I need help walking."

"Oh shut up, Grayson," she said rolling her eyes, but continued to hold his hand nonetheless.

* * *

Bruce and Alfred watched Dick and Babs wandering through what Damien had left of the garden, bantering and laughing with each other like no time had passed at all.

"You sneaky bastard," said Bruce to the butler approvingly. "This borders on voyeurism, by the way."

"I don't see you politely adverting your gaze, Master Bruce," the butler pointed out. "Besides, we both know how reckless Master Dick can be with... well, everything in general. Like you, sir, sometimes he just needs to be pointed in the right direction."

"Shoved in the right direction is more like it," agreed Bruce. "If Barbara Gordon ends up as Barbara Grayson, I owe Clark and Barry each a hundred dollars and their choice of what my uniform consists of for a month. If I'm on the front page of the Gotham Gazette wearing a tu-tu and a goddamn 'I love Flash' crop top, I am coming for you, old man" he growled.

"Understood, Master Bruce. A tu-tu," acknowledged the butler, smiling pleasantly. "And it would be my great pleasure to hem it for you."

"I will hold you to that," said Bruce.

"Very good, sir," said the butler dryly. "Side bet, Master Bruce: instead of Barbara Grayson, the new name from the union will be Richard Gordon. I think we both know who wears the pants in that relationship."

Bruce snorted. "Too true. I've never seen Dick as awkward or nervous around any woman as he is and always has been with Barbara."

"Yes," agreed Afred. "Not unlike how a certain usually suave Caped Crusader acts around a certain feline foe."

Bruce Wayne almost choked on the coffee he was sipping. The old man really never missed a trick.

"Alfred," he said regaining his composure. "You're fired."

"Again?" asked the butler nonchalantly and sighing heavily. "I supposed I'll go pack my things."

Instead, he walked away from the window and took a seat next to his employer. The two left Dick and Babs to their privacy and shared another few minutes enjoying each other's company, savoring the time that they could spend together as just Bruce and Alfred.

They both knew, that in this household, the simple pleasures of a normal life tended to evaporate with the setting sun.


End file.
